


Say What You Mean

by LandOfMistAndSecrets



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blowjobs, Bulges, Established Relationship, Insecure Nerds, M/M, Meteorstuck, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/pseuds/LandOfMistAndSecrets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave POV. You read the tags, you know what this is. For all that it's lacking in plot, I hope the character stuff will more than make up for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say What You Mean

Karkat likes to sleep with his back to the wall, and over the course of a night, Dave has discovered that any loose sheets, blankets or pillows nearby will be invariably pulled into his immediate vicinity, on top of him and around him and just generally fucking everywhere. It's an instinct, Karkat has explained. He does this while blushing, which is cute as fuck, and if he's being honest, really only makes Dave want to tease him about it even more. But he doesn't actually mind. He spends most nights these days -- or whatever passes for night on the meteor, the time situation is weird here -- snuggled up against Karkat like he's part of his ridiculous impromptu troll pile, himself. 

Tonight is no exception, though it's a little strange that he's the one awake and Karkat is the one curled up tight around himself, snoring softly. Karkat _really_ doesn't sleep much, even now. There's only one surefire way Dave's found to make sure he at least dozes off for a few hours, and that's -- well. Lewd, he thinks, grinning in the dark. Hella fucking lewd and _hells_ of fucking gay and it's familiar enough, now, this thing they've been doing, that he can actually kind of think about it without freaking out. Mostly. He turns it over in his head. 

The way he's watching Karkat sleep right now is probably extremely not cool, all things considered. He thinks about Karkat doing the same thing to him on those all too common nights where Dave is the one off on dream bubble adventures, alone, and feels his neck and face and ears all heat up like triplet burners on an electric stove. Not cool. Can't a bro get some fucking shut-eye without his desperate clingy boyfriend feeling him up with his eyes? Ruminating in an _alarmingly_ gay way about how long his eyelashes are, or how much he'd really like to touch his mussed up mop of thick troll curls -- just like, run his hands through it, and shit -- or how fucking cute his stupid pointed fucking teeth are sticking out over his lip like that, what the fuck? Why is that _cute?_ Those teeth are sharp, he knows this firsthand. Like making out with a shark, or so Dave likes to tease him. 

(And he gets so fucking mad, puffing up and squishing his eyebrows and loudly exclaiming about how if Dave would rather go make out with an aquatic apex predator there are a thousand ghost Eridans that would be more than happy to oblige. Dave is only vaguely aware of who Eridan is, but it's enough to know they won't be making out any time soon.) 

Probably the only thing less cool than watching Karkat sleep would be accidentally waking Karkat _up_ , Dave thinks, so he fidgets in place with the effort of keeping his hands to himself for a full five minutes before he gives in. A for effort, F for execution. He reaches over a pillow that somehow found its way between them -- that fucking troll nesting instinct will _never_ not be hilarious -- and just kind of brushes Karkat's hair out of his face. It's this embarrassingly gentle little honest-to-god caress that he's not sure he could duplicate if Karkat were actually awake to witness it. Troll hair is rough and wiry, and it's actually kind of difficult to actually _run his fingers_ through it, romance novel style, because fingers just kind of get caught halfway through and start pulling, and then his boyfriend is shaking him off and yelling at him and he's blushing and laughing and saying shit like, _well if you didn't have a nest of fucking steel wool on your god damn head maybe this wouldn't be a problem!_

But he loves it. He loves _him._

Just thinking that makes his heart lurch in this palpable, almost painful way, and he pulls his fingers back real fast like he just got caught doing something he shouldn't. He flops onto his back, heart racing, blinking up at the ceiling. There are these ambient track lights stuck on the panels up there, dim and tracing the shape of each metal rectangle. This was never meant to be a bedroom. It's just a lab, emptied out and re-purposed, bed crammed up into the corner, personal effects strewn around. He alchemized a few cinder blocks early on, just to make it feel more like home, but it still doesn't. 

And that's all right. Preferable, really. Home sucked. Home was shitty and awful and he hated it, he's come to realize, hated it a _lot_ , hated feeling like an unwelcome intruder at the best of times, and an actual pest about to be mercilessly exterminated at the worst, and the meteor is _nothing_ like home. Houston was sweating in front of a screen in his tiny room with his completely inadequate fan on one side and his poor fucking computer radiating heat and whirring like a dying creature while he kept one ear open for a ping on Pesterchum, and, oh yeah, kept the _other_ ear open for any psychotic guardians or possessed hell puppets or both. He can remember with perfect clarity what that was like. How desperate he'd been for John or Jade or Rose to just _message_ him so he could feel like there was someone else in the world that wanted him there for five fucking minutes. 

The meteor is the opposite of all that. Pretty literally, in most respects. So yeah. Fuck home, and all hail the new hotness, transitory space meteors hurtling along at the speed of light. Pay no mind to the murderous flying dog bringing up the rear. He might want to kick the shit out of you, sure, but at least he isn't literally your genetic father at the same time. 

There's a rustle as Karkat uncurls beside him, and Dave turns his head to watch, grateful for the distraction from the toilet-like swirl of his own mental garbage. He doesn't wake up. He just kind of flings an arm out, finds the pillow between them, hugs it close -- fuck, that is _cute_ \-- and turns over on his other side. He kind of wiggles around a bit, lets the pillow go, makes a frustrated-growly noise, the kind that comes from some troll-only vocal organ deep in his throat, and flops over onto his back, instead. His chest rises and falls, still rhythmic in sleep, and Dave idly considers reaching over all bona fide Casanova-like and grabbing his hand. Doesn't, because he is truly chickenshit. Afraid of what Karkat would say if he woke up. Which is stupid, because Karkat likes holding hands. 

And -- fuck, so does he, but thinking so makes his heart start knocking up on his ribcage again like some pissed off debt collector -- _hey, motherfuckers, open up, you think you can think that sappy bullshit for free?_

God, he's pathetic. 

He grabs Karkat's hand. Immediately lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, and thank god no one is awake to see it. It's freezing in here, Karkat has stolen all the blankets, and still he's sweating. Gross. Should have wiped his palms first. Oh well. 

The _really_ stupid part, the part that would make him laugh if he wasn't afraid it would wake Karkat up, is that they have done so much more than just hold hands. He should be so far beyond this, now. This should be nothing. Karkat squeezing his hand back in his sleep shouldn't make a little shivery thrill run through him, not when they've had their tongues in each other's mouths and -- some other choice bits, too -- _god._ They've done some exploring, all right. Interspecies biology lessons have never been so much fun. Karkat kind of curls back toward him, and Dave wiggles his way in closer now that Karkat has helpfully removed the pillow obstacle between them. 

"Hi," Karkat mutters, his voice even raspier than usual, thick with sleep. Dave's insides do this _hilarious_ thing where they sink through the floor because oh, shit, he managed to wake him up after all, great job asshole, but also soar up past the ceiling into the upper echelons of paradox space because Karkat is moving closer, too, and he doesn't sound angry, just -- comfortable -- and it's nice. It's so fucking _nice,_ this thing they're doing, this thing where Karkat sighs and slips his fingers out of Dave's grip and throws his arm over Dave's chest and presses his face into Dave's shoulder and just lays there, breathing.

"Hey," Dave says, praying to whatever gods might be listening that none of that sappy shit he can't stop thinking infects his tone of voice. Miraculously, it doesn't. He sounds... normal. Cool, composed. 

"Hay is for hoofbeasts," Karkat growls into his shoulder, which is bullshit because -- 

"Hay isn't even the troll word for _dried frond straws,_ that's cheating," Dave laughs. "Also, you stole that from Rose." 

Karkat shrugs, and Dave can feel him grinning, feel his teeth against his shoulder. He doesn't reply, but he _does_ yank Dave closer to him, which is better than a verbal reply, really. Dave tries to concentrate on regulating his breathing. It's fucking embarrassing that just this sort of thing can get him going, breathing all fast, thoughts happily herding themselves down are-we-getting-laid lane. No, asshole. This is just cuddling. Be fucking cool, god damn it.

He manages to be cool for about ten seconds. Then he takes his free hand -- the one that isn't currently half-pinned underneath Karkat -- and slides his fingers through the mess that passes for Karkat's bangs, watching his face from the corner of his eye. Karkat's eyes flicker open, brows twitching downward. Dave pulls his fingers out before they can actually get stuck in a tangle, and smoothes his palm over the top of his scratchy fucking hair the rest of the way toward one horn. Karkat has assured him multiple times in increasingly aggrieved tones that troll horns are _not_ an erogenous zone, but there's still something strangely intimate about touching them, Dave thinks. Which is an embarrassing fucking thought. _Intimate_ , seriously, Karkat's vocabulary really needs to stop leaking into his, it is a serious problem. 

"Is this your way of propositioning me," Karkat asks without asking, more stating his question in a deadpan tone that makes Dave want to simultaneously giggle like an idiot and flush himself down an industrial toilet. 

"Nah," he says. Cool as fucking ice. Fuck yeah. Nailed it.

"Okay," Karkat says, maybe a little too fast. "Fine, sure. Good! Because I'm fucking tired and was planning to _try_ to get back to sleep, here." 

Ouch. Damn. Dave is _pretty_ sure half of that is teasing, punishment for lying through his god damn teeth, but it still kind of stings. His fingers still with their pointless horn fondling and he swallows, hard. Nods. "Yeah," he says, snatching his hand back. "I mean, you need it. You could pack all the shit we collectively own between us into those bags under your eyes, pretty sure. They are some epic shit, bro. Like, no need for a sylladex, Karkat's got you covered, we've got all the luggage we'll ever need right here." 

"Nice," Karkat says. Aforementioned eyes are now practically slits, glaring up at him. "Thanks." They close. 

"Uh," Dave says, licking his lips. "Not that I don't, you know I'm not saying, like -- I love -- uh, like, I like your eyes. I like your whole face?" He winces. "Shit. I just mean--" 

"I know what you mean, you tremendous fucking dork!" Karkat nudges his shoulder with his chin. "You can put a porous stopper in the verbal geyser spewing out of your panic hole, now." 

" _Panic hole,_ " Dave repeats, voice high. He will not giggle. He fucking refuses to giggle.

"Don't even try to argue," Karkat says. He sounds -- _smug_ , of all things. 

"Okay, but also, fuck you," Dave manages, and Karkat laughs, and the weird nervous tension spiraling through Dave's guts dissipates enough that he can take a deep breath and dispel it for real. 

They just breathe, for awhile. Karkat is _really_ warm against him, but that's at least partially because of his stupid soft oversized sweater. He wonders if Karkat will ever be comfortable enough with him to come to bed without it. And, of course, that was _exactly_ the wrong thing to think, because it leads right down a path from which there's really no return -- Karkat crawling into bed, shirtless, he'd be so fucking embarrassed, his cheeks and shoulders and chest would all be glowing with those candy-red undertones, and his skin would be so weirdly soft against his, his bones sharp and strange and _different_ where Dave traced them with his fingertips... 

Okay, yeah. He's reacting to this, just the thought of this, and this is a major problem because there's no fucking way he can get away with jacking off with Karkat _right there_ , just the thought of waking Karkat up with _that_ makes him want to actually fucking die. So he clenches his teeth, trying really hard to just _stop thinking_ , so his body will calm the fuck down and his brain can maybe start producing something useful instead. Like sleep chemicals, for instance. Sleep would be great. Sleep feels so fucking far off right now it's almost comical. 

He sighs quietly and drops his arm over his eyes all fucking dramatically, but who cares, no one's watching, and tries to think unsexy thoughts. 

This endeavor is immediately cut short as Karkat wiggles against him. "You're not sleeping," he observes, and Dave startles, face hot. He doesn't even want to know what color his cheeks are, right now. 

"Obviously," Dave chokes out. He doesn't even try to make it sound cool. He is so uncool right now he might never recover. 

"What's the matter?" 

"Nothing's the _matter_ ," Dave says, too quickly. "Maybe I'm just not tired, okay?" 

Karkat is quiet, for a second. Then: "Do you want to go?" 

"What, like, get up? Do you?" 

Quiet, again. Dave groans. 

"Karkat, god damn you, why aren't _you_ sleeping? You said you were going back to sleep!" 

"Well, I fucking _tried_ , Dave, but then I started thinking too hard about how _you_ obviously weren't sleeping! So I was waiting for _you_ to fall asleep first, but then you started doing this obviously heavily fucking beleaguered act, like I wouldn't fucking notice--" 

"Oh my god," Dave cuts him off, eyes sliding shut, shoulders shaking with helpless laughter. "Oh my fucking _god_ , Karkat." 

"This is not funny!" Karkat snaps, pushing away, sitting up. "Stop laughing!"

Dave opens his eyes. "You want to know why I can't sleep? Really?" 

"... _Yes?_ " 

Dave sits up, eyes him pointedly, and shrugs. The way Karkat's eyes widen when Dave grabs his shoulders and pushes him down flat on his back is pretty gratifying, and so is his sharp intake of breath as Dave slides over him, pressing their bodies together, chest and stomach and hips, hips especially, he presses those in good and tight so there can be absolutely _no_ ambiguity over what exactly is happening in his pants. Karkat's arms wrap around him, maybe instinctively, but it's still nice. 

" _Oh_ ," Karkat says, all breathy and flustered. He's looking right into Dave's eyes, and damn, it's kind of too much, it's _definitely_ too much, so Dave slides his eyes away and focuses on a spot on the mattress, instead, eyebrows up near his hairline. 

"See, I was _trying_ to just fucking be cool, let you get some god damn shuteye instead of being a needy, clingy piece of shit all the fucking time--" 

"No, hold on--" 

"--So now you know, that is definitely beyond me, congratulations, you picked the most desperately pathetic dude in all Paradox Space to get all cuddly with, only you didn't realize that Dave Strider's broken fucking brain is incapable of just fucking being _actually_ cool for even a single second, so of course--" 

Karkat growls again, slides one hand from where it had been resting just beneath Dave's shoulderblades to press against the back of his head, instead, fingers tangling in his hair. Dave kind of stutters over his words, and Karkat takes the opportunity to yank their faces together, and then Dave is kissing him like his life depends on it. It's kind of rough and messy and there are teeth involved and Karkat is still doing that rumbling-growling thing deep in his throat, and it's simultaneously getting Dave even more worked up _and_ scaring the shit out of him. 

Dave breaks off, first, lifting his head. Karkat doesn't let go of his hair, but he lets him pull back a little. His eyebrows are pulled down and he licks his lips -- pitch black lips, ash grey tongue, it's so weird and so weirdly _hot_ and -- Dave lets out this shuddering breath. 

"Sorry," he says, panting. 

The growling tapers off, dissolves into a series of faint clicks that sound vaguely berating. "Don't apologize for being attracted to me," Karkat says. "I know this might shock your delicate mammalian meat brain, but I _like_ being wanted, dumbass." 

"Okay, but you _said_ you didn't want to--?" 

"You said _you_ weren't trying!" Karkat lets go of his hair and actually shakes a finger at him, glaring. "I _asked,_ god damn it!" 

"But," Dave starts, stops. Stares. "I mean, obviously, I was..." 

"Obviously, _what?_ Obviously, no means yes? Is that the conclusion I was meant to leap to? Today is opposite day, is that it?" 

"Wait, you seriously thought I wasn't -- that, uh --" 

"And you know, for the record, it's hideously embarrassing to be _wrong_ about reading a situation like that, so maybe I was a little short, but--" 

"Oh my god," Dave says, again. He lets his head drop, rests his forehead on Karkat's shoulder, laughing quietly, helplessly. "You weren't wrong." 

"Then why didn't you just _say_ so?!" 

"Because, I," Dave shakes his head. "I didn't want to sound desperate? I didn't want to put you on the spot? You sounded like you were kinda annoyed and I didn't want to be rejected? Like, a thousand reasons..." 

"Dave," Karkat says, and his voice sounds so very fucking pained, "That is the most outright idiotic thing I have ever heard you say, and please believe me when I say that's not hyperbole and at this point that is a _very_ difficult bar to fucking clear!" 

"Sorry," Dave says again, softer this time. 

"Can we please just agree, when it comes to _this_ , at least, we will both say what we actually _mean?_ Please?" 

"Yeah," Dave says, shoulders hunching. God, he's an idiot. He is a fucking piece of work, isn't he? Just had to sound cool, collected. In charge of his emotions. Yeah. Awesome job, fuckface, you really shot it out of the fucking park, this time!

At least his dick has taken the cue with all this shame running through him and fucked off back to shrivel city. Silver linings. 

"Okay," Karkat says. "...Okay. So." 

"Sorry," Dave repeats, like a fucking broken record, or something, it feels like the only _safe_ thing to say, right now, and -- and then Karkat's fingers are back in his hair, stroking, soothing. 

"No, stop apologizing, it's fine. We're fine!" 

"Okay," Dave says, face still pressed into Karkat's shoulder. He might never be able to look him in the eye again. Fuck. "Cool." 

"Dave," Karkat sighs, one hand sliding down the back of his neck, over his shoulder, warm fingers trailing down his side to rest at the small of his back. Dave can't help the little shiver that goes through him; embarrassed or not, he still fucking loves being touched like this. Held like this. It is _truly_ pathetic how fucking desperately thirsty he actually is for this or any kind of physical affection, and it still fucks with him so bad sometimes, the dichotomy in his fucked up brain between wanting it so bad and knowing how thoroughly against the precious Strider Rules of Cool it is to like _cuddling._ Kissing. Touching. More. 

"Dave," Karkat repeats. "I can't believe I'm requesting this, but -- talk to me? Please?" 

His shoulders shake. Yeah, that's funny. 

"It's cool, bro," he says. "Just had, like, a minor freakout, you know how it is." 

"Yeah," Karkat agrees. "I do." 

"For the record, I pretty much always want you, by the way." 

"Oh," Karkat says. Then he laughs, nervously. "Yeah. Uh, me too. Only, for you." 

"Bullshit," Dave says, grinning into his sweater, which is good, smiling is good. "You want yourself, too, I know all your kinky secrets." 

Karkat flicks his ear, just hard enough to sting a little. Dave flinches, laughs. "Fuck you," Karkat says, but he doesn't deny it. 

"Maybe one day we'll like, stumble into a dream bubble you that's totally down for some sexy self exploration--" 

"No, no, fucking no, stop! Shut up!" Karkat grabs Dave's hair, again, wrenching his face up. "We are not talking about this! Not under _any_ circumstances! I am _not_ interested in a relationship, physical or otherwise, with any of my own fucking doomed selves! Holy shit!" 

"I was thinking something more like a one night stand, but..." 

"Please listen very carefully, Dave, because I'm only going to say this _once._ The only person in all of paradox space that I am legitimately and seriously interested in pursuing intimate relations with is _you_ , although at times like this I have a very hard time remembering exactly why!" 

"So, what you're saying is, you need a reminder?" 

Oh, shit. That was -- _extremely_ fucking forward. He holds his breath. An eternity passes in the space between that casual suggestion and Karkat's response. 

"Hmm," he says. His eyes narrow into bright yellow slits. "I don't know. Is this your way of propositioning me, Dave?" 

Dave exhales. Grins. "Hell fucking yes," he says, and Karkat's eyes go from narrow slits to open pools, considering him. 

"What... exactly, did you have in mind?" 

Dave licks his lips. He knows without even really having to think about it. "How about you just lay back and let me show you?" 

Karkat's eyes widen just a fraction more, and for a second Dave is afraid he's going to say no. He must know what he's thinking, right now, and Karkat can be kind of weird about this specific activity, sometimes, like it's something he thinks should be saved for special occasions, when really, Dave sort of just wants to do it _all the fucking time._ He holds Karkat's gaze, smirking in a way that he hopes is chill but inviting and alluring and _convincing_ , damn it. 

Karkat drops his gaze first. "Yeah, okay," he says, and Dave notes with a surge of triumph that he's smiling in that embarrassed, dopey way that means he's thinking thoughts that are way too sappy to be inspired by a potential fucking blowjob, but that's just Karkat and they can cuddle it out later. Or whatever. 

Dave tries and fails to not seem too eager as he lifts himself up on his hands and knees over Karkat, who has obediently and expectantly stretched out on his back, head in the pillow pile. Dave leans down and starts things up the way they usually start between them -- with a long, wet, intentionally sloppy kiss. Karkat's eyes close and his lips part amicably under Dave's, and they just do this for awhile, tongues meeting, moving past each other, alternating between languid exploration and more direct darting motions in rhythm. Eventually, Dave lets his fingers drag the hem of Karkat's sweater up, tracing aimless paths over the plane of his stomach. It's nothing like touching a human, not that Dave has touched so very many of those, either. But Karkat has taut muscles stretched over skeletal plates, and his skin is soft -- so fucking soft -- but the structures his skin is pulled so tightly over are bone-hard with almost zero give. It's the same as he trails his fingers up under the cloth; overlapping plates just under the skin, a biological design Karkat constantly touts as superior because it afford some protection for all those weirdly named internal organs he's always going on about, and hey, he's probably right. Dave just loves touching him. 

He breaks his lips off Karkat's, kisses down over his chin, appreciates the way Karkat's breath comes out all ragged, the way he sucks it back in with labored effort. Kisses down his throat -- actually just as vulnerable as a human throat, hilariously, though troll skin is tougher, thicker. Karkat never let Dave kiss him like this, at first. Never let him press these wet, toothy little nipping kisses into the skin over his fluttering pulse, against his adam's apple, which they have in common, and then again against the second hard little bump further down where all those alien chirps and clicks come from. He lets him now, and it's _delightful._ His body is starting to pay attention, again, but Dave ignores that, shoves that right aside. His dick can wait. 

Karkat's, on the other hand, is causing a visible ruckus in his boxers, and it's hilarious, actually, how Karkat is comfortable coming to bed without his pants but still insists on wearing that fucking sweater. Dave glances up, meets Karkat's eyes, grins as he shimmies further down his body and sees Karkat swallow, watching him. Dave presses a kiss to the strip of his stomach showing under the shoved-up hem of his sweater, pushes it up a little further, kisses a trail up like his lips are chasing the cloth. Karkat squirms pleasantly beneath him, muttering expletives punctuated now and then with his name; _Fuck, Dave_ and _Shit, Dave_ and _God, Dave, please._

Dave doesn't make him wait long. 

Karkat's abdominal structures narrow down into even harder overlapping pelvic plates, and Dave runs his tongue over each ridge as his fingers ease Karkat's boxers down, over his hips, and it's so fucking hot the way Karkat lifts his body to accommodate him, the way he wiggles his hips like he's trying to shake his clothes off himself. The way his soft little gasps fill the room and turn into outright moans when Dave strokes his thrashing bulge with one hand and lets it tangle around his fingers, soft and wet and pulsing with unfulfilled need. Dave holds the entire thing carefully away from his mouth, kissing the twin creases where Karkat's thighs meet his pelvis, instead, running his tongue along those lines, too. Karkat groans, and the desperate sound of it makes Dave's dick twitch with interest -- God, he makes so much noise. So many damn good noises. 

"Dave, god damn you," Karkat chokes out, and when Dave flickers his eyes upward he sees Karkat's head lifted, chin against his chest, watching him with rapt attention. His hair is sticking up fucking everywhere. It's cute. Dave kisses his thigh. "Stop fucking _teasing_ , and just -- fuck, I need --" 

This is an unacceptable level of coherence, Dave decides, and so he redirects his attention to a certain pair of not-quite-testicles-but-not-quite- _not_ that Dave knows intellectually are called _shame globes_ but pretty much always thinks of as _alien balls._ Close enough. He runs his tongue delicately over one and then the other, and Karkat stops making words and just gasps out this truly gratifying _aagghn_ sort of noise, instead. There's a telling _thud_ as one of Karkat's fists slams against the mattress, and Dave takes this a cue to take as much of one into his mouth as he can. They're firmer than the ones attached to his own equipment, and don't, well, hang quite as much, but the function is similar, clearly. 

"Fuck," Karkat pants, and his hips are moving erratically, his ass is lifting off the bed. "Fuck, fuck, oh _fuck,_ Dave, please, _please,_ " Karkat begs, actually _begs_ him, and the sound of that sears itself into Dave's brain and sort of leaves him dazed, for a second. Fuck. He wants to use his free hand to touch himself so fucking bad, but -- fuck. 

He lifts his head, licks his lips. Gently disentangles Karkat's bulge from around his fingers. Karkat blinks down at him, chest rising and falling, shallow and fast. "What are you--" He starts, but Dave slides off the end of the bed and grabs his ankles before he can finish the thought, yanking him bodily down the length of the bed. Karkat yelps, scrabbling uselessly for purchase. The metal floor is cold and uncomfortable as fuck under his knees, but that doesn't matter much because he has Karkat's legs thrown over his shoulders and his cherry-red bulge writhing right in front of his god damn face, and nothing else really matters weighed against those things. 

Well -- no, the noises Karkat is making matter. The look on his face, that matters a lot. 

Dave leans in eagerly and runs his tongue over the base of Karkat's bulge, feels his whole body shudder, hears him moan a stuttered, desperate _yes, yes, more, yes!_ He presses his hands against his thighs, keeping him spread out, open in front of him, and the way his bulge moves makes it hard to actually _catch_ it with his mouth, which Dave has to admit to himself is objectively hilarious, but Karkat doesn't seem to mind his fumbling and inadvertent face painting so long as it results on his tongue sliding up along his dripping wet length, which it does. Eventually. 

Karkat curls up at the waist and squirms desperately, reaching down to grab two fistfuls of Dave's hair. "God, Dave," he's saying, fingers squeezing, it's a little painful but not unpleasantly so. "Please, fuck, ah, I need you, ah, take it, _in_ , please, please..." 

Dave hums something he hopes sounds like the assent it's meant to be, and it takes him several tries with Karkat's bulge squirming the way it is, but the third try's the charm and he honestly loves the way Karkat's weird fucking alien dick feels inside him, whether it's his mouth or... other places it's been, the way it curls and shivers and the texture and taste and _all_ of it, it's all so, so good. Karkat seems to think so, too, because he's just moaning _fuck_ and _yes_ over and over, and his legs keep trying to snap closed to trap Dave's face in place and his thighs are slippery with sweat and Dave's hands keep scrabbling for purchase to keep him open like this. It's hot and messy and god damn _glorious,_ and Dave swallows thickly around him, slowly taking more of him in. 

He thinks he could probably take more if it were, like, a human dick, because human dicks don't _move_ like this, but he also knows he wouldn't trade this experience for all the human dicks in the world. And that's saying a lot. How the fuck did he ever not realize how into dicks he was? Unironically, even. 

Sucking eagerly, he swirls his tongue around the tip -- or at least, he tries, but it's more like Karkat's bulge thinks his tongue is _also_ an alien dick, and they're trying to do the troll tentacle twister together. Which is so fucking absurd both intellectually and sensation wise he kind of laughs, which makes his throat spasm in all the wrong ways so of course he chokes, which makes him pull himself off Karkat's dick in a hurry, spit and slurry running down his chin. He spits. God, the floor, the poor floor, they need one of those storefront warning signs, _caution wet floor_ , with overdramatic exclamation points and bold type font and of course the hilarious little stick figure falling on his stick ass. 

"Jesus, Dave," Karkat is saying, blinking down at him, looking less blissed out and more vaguely horrified. "Fuck, are you OK?!" Dave wipes his mouth with one hand, and then wipes his hand on the sheets, whatever. They are so far past any place with actual etiquette, here. 

"One hundred percent okay," Dave assures him, though his voice comes out a little rough, and his throat feels a little sore, but whatever. "I'm going to let go of your legs," Dave says. "Try not to fucking crush me, all right?"

"What the fuck, I'm not going to -- oh, oh, Jesus, Dave, oh, _fuck!_ " 

Karkat flops back down into a gratifying moaning mess, because Dave is now using one hand to grip the base of his bulge and sucking eagerly again at the tip. He can maneuver him a little, like this, apply squeezing pressure with his palm and tease him simultaneously with his tongue, and Dave can always tell when Karkat is getting close when he's up close and personal like this because his nook just _shivers_ around the base of his bulge, and there's this steady stream of pink material getting _everywhere_ , and then there's the way Karkat's entire body jerks and shudders and his voice gets high and breathy and his heels dig painfully into Dave's back.

He shouts Dave's name when he comes, but Dave can only barely hear it because he's busy kind of half-drowning between his legs. 

He should probably mind more, but he really, really doesn't. 

When he's finished, Karkat's legs go loose over his shoulders, again, and Dave is able to pull himself back, laughing in quiet delight. God, there is pinkish-red shit fucking _everywhere._ His face, his chest, the bed, the floor. God. 

"Fuck, Karkat," Dave sighs, standing up on legs that are kind of wobbly, and he isn't even the one who came. He makes a cursory effort at wiping his face off with the corner of a sheet. Karkat is splayed out on his back, eyes glazed, breathing hard, sheets squeezed into his fists. There are wet tracks trailing from the corners of his eyes back into his hair. Dave's stomach flutters and his cock fucking throbs. "You are so fucking hot, damn." 

"Shut up," Karkat breathes, covering his face with his arms. 

Dave slides over him, straddling him, waiting. Eventually, Karkat lowers his arms. His smile is perfect. 

"Feel good?" Dave asks, soft and embarrassingly sincere. Karkat laughs, wiping his face with his sweater sleeve. 

"Uh, yeah," he says, and his eyes flicker down to the obvious tent in Dave's own pants. "Really fucking good, Dave, holy shit." 

It's strange, the pride that swells in him, hearing that. It's almost enough to drown out the other parts of his brain that are clawing their way through the tide of good feelings, panicking about how wrong and weak and utterly _gay_ everything he just did was, which is nice, because he wants nothing to do with those shitty broken parts of himself right now, thanks. 

Karkat's fingers go almost shyly to his waistband, and he raises his eyebrows like he's asking permission. 

"Go ahead, dude," Dave grins. "It's all yours, like, figuratively, literally, unironically..." 

"I'm not touching you until you stop talking," Karkat says, and Dave snaps his mouth shut immediately, which makes Karkat laugh, which makes Dave's chest actually hurt because there is just too damn much going on in there, too many emotions swelling up and refusing to be shunted off or at least ignored. 

And then Karkat is touching his dick, squeezing gently, biting his lip in concentration, and the only emotion he can really feel for awhile is _oh fucking fuck yes._

It really does not take long -- like, it takes embarrassingly little time -- and he comes right there in his pants because Karkat never shimmies them down and even though that was the obvious, inevitable, intended result, it's still vaguely embarrassing, too. But Karkat just gives him one last fond little squeeze and flashes that proud smile he gets whenever Dave groans out his name, this way, and -- who fucking cares how long it took or where it went, it was good. It was damn good. 

He collapses on top of Karkat, boneless and suddenly outrageously fucking exhausted. 

"Really?" Karkat laughs, wrapping his arms around him, shaking his head. "Really, Dave?" 

"Mmm," Dave hums, nuzzling into his throat. Karkat tips his head back, and Dave can feel him swallow. 

"God," Karkat groans, but the laughter still hasn't left his voice. "We're going to regret leaving all this to tomorrow to clean up, you know." 

"With all due respect," Dave mumbles, "I don't give a fuck." 

"You will," Karkat says, but there's no heat in it, and besides, his voice is practically slurring, too. They're covered in sweat and sex and it's all kinds of unpleasantly wet between them, but Dave's limbs are done moving and his brain is done thinking, so he just snuggles in closer and shrugs. 

"Won't be the first time, won't be the last," he yawns.

"Hey," Karkat says. 

"Thought hay was for horses?" Dave teases. Karkat kicks him, but his heart isn't remotely in it, so Dave relents. "Hey what?" 

"Love you," Karkat whispers, and Dave can feel the way his skin heats up, the way his heart speeds up, everything. He tucks his face tighter against Karkat's neck, smiling. 

"Love you too," he mumbles, and it comes out all muffled into Karkat's skin, but apparently it's audible enough, because Karkat does this breathy shivery sigh-thing and squeezes him tight, and Dave is _extremely_ fucking glad Karkat can't see his face right now, because all of a sudden he is blinking back tears. Not bad tears, he doesn't think. Just -- fuck. 

It's just so nice, he thinks. It's so damned nice to be loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at [@landofsomethingsomething](http://landofsomethingsomething.tumblr.com)!


End file.
